


By Light of Moon and Ray of Star

by Heronfem



Category: Haikyuu!!, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Aragorn!Matsukawa, Arwen!Hanamaki, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Erestor!Iwaizumi, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Glorfindel!Oikawa, M/M, Middle Earth, extremely butchered LOTR things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 03:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14844489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: The not-exactly smooth romance of Hanamaki Takahiro, son of Rivendell, and Issei I Elessar of House Matsukawa, future King of Gondor.Or, Issei proposes to the great immortal Evenstar Takahiro at all of age 6 and never stops meaning it.





	By Light of Moon and Ray of Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cheesyshenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheesyshenanigans/gifts).



> Heavily, heavily inspired by this post: http://notbecauseofvictories.tumblr.com/post/71998288691/also-that-whole-tale-of-aragorn-and-arwen-thing
> 
> Also heavily inspired by Cheesy. You're a gift, and I'm eternally grateful to you for watching the movies with me.

In the careful distillation of love and good breeding that the Noldor have cultivated, nobody quite expects the fabled Half-Elven child of Beren and Luthien and his wife to have three children. But three they have, all strong and hardy, and the oldest they give the name of Takahiro.

Takahiro grows up in Imladris, young and foolish and temperamental when he hasn't eaten enough in a day. His father is Lord, his late mother the Lady, and he himself is considered a great prince. Or, at least, _a_ prince. They have many names for him; Young Lord, the Son of Rivendell, Evenstar. His given name is considered sacred, as all given names are, and so he's given the public name of _Hanamaki_ , book of flowers, for his pale pink hair and the burden of the Evenstar he carries upon his chest each day- a gift and burden from his late mother. He lives in a state of eternally moving time, and doesn't mind the way it seems the world keeps spinning faster and faster through the seasons. His burden is light, as of yet. 

It's a strange thing, the Elessar that he bears. The name isn't spoken, but the gem hangs from a fine mithril chain and is set into a lovely pendant. His mother wore it, and her mother before her. But she had no daughters, so it falls to her eldest son to become the new Evenstar, guardian of Elessar until the one meant to have it comes to him. 

Takahiro is well trained in many arts. He whiles away his time studying languages, learning music, writing the histories of his people, and practicing with weapons. His tutors proclaim him adequate on the first three, and exceptional at the last. The last mostly has to do with that particular tutor- Oikawa is an excellent teacher with a questionable past and present, and Takahiro doesn't dare disappoint him lest he be gutted on the spot. 

“He wouldn't actually,” Iwaizumi Hajime, his father's Seneschal, informs him as he sips at his tea. Iwaizumi dresses in all black, and refuses to wear his hair long. Takahiro's falls all the way to his waist. They're taking tea in one of the five gardens, Iwaizumi watching as Oikawa works through his forms in his golden armor, hair pulled into elaborate braids as long as Takahiro's. It could be coincidence that Oikawa shares the same given name as the fabled Balrog slayer, but Takahiro has seen the way Oikawa's eyes unfix at times, staring at a world of nightmares only he can see. It's no coincidence at all. 

“Mmm, I think he might.” Takahiro, dressed for the day in soft teal velvet and white silks, is avoiding both his tutors and packing for his upcoming journey to Lothlorien. 

Iwaizumi snorts, taking another drink of his tea. Oikawa beheads a dummy. 

“Sloppy,” Iwaizumi calls out, and Oikawa looks deeply offended. 

“Then _you_ come down and practice, Haj- Iwaizumi!”

Iwaizumi takes another drink, the teacup delicate in his large hands. “Smooth, Oikawa. And no, I don't want to.”

Oikawa leans on his spear, raising a challenging eyebrow as Takahiro steals another little dessert from the plate on the table. “But I want to see how we match up!”

Iwaizumi sips his tea, looking over the rim at his life partner. “Unfortunate,” he deadpans, and Oikawa squawks in annoyance. Iwaizumi throws a roll at him, and Oikawa easily catches it on the end of his spear. 

A horn sounds in the valley, a call for the riders to join Takahiro's father in council. The quiet peace shattered, Takahiro gets to his feet as Oikawa whistles and his enormous white charger comes from where he's been grazing nearby. Iwaizumi climbs to his feet, black robes swirling around him as he picks up his circlet from the table and places it on his head. It's different from the elegant curves that most favor, with sharp lines and a stone in the center of it, flint. Takahiro's own is simple, just a slim band of silver coming to a point with tiny white stones set inside the edges. 

Oikawa swings onto his charger, and Iwaizumi hands him his spear. 

“Don't stay out hunting too long, wherever my lord sends you,” Iwaizumi says dryly. “You're noisy when you come home.”

“So rude.”

Oikawa clicks his tongue and his charger leaps forward. They become a blur of white and gold, and vanish into the distance. 

“Well,” Iwaizumi says with a sigh, “let's go find out what they want.”

It's not much of a walk to get to the council chambers, and when they do there are people waiting there. A large number of grizzled humans, in black and grey clothes, gathered around a woman and her young son as Takahiro's brother Kunimi quietly converses with one of the burlier humans. The woman is tall for a human, beautiful, with strong cheekbones and a dress of deep green. There's a small child with her, dressed in simple breeches and a blue tunic, his black hair curly and his eyes wide with curiosity under truly impressive eyebrows. He has his mothers hair and eyes, but his looks must be all his fathers. 

Takahiro's father pulls him aside before he can reach the chamber itself, and a truly incredible explanation is given. 

He’s a tiny thing, the future king of Gondor, with intense eyebrows and curly black hair. His kingly name is Elessar just like the pendant hanging from Takahiros neck. One day, he’ll take it off and give it to this scrap of humanity, a gift to rule. He’s been given the public name of Hoshi to hide his identity. His true name, the one Takahiro knows he must put from his mind, is Issei of the House Matsukawa.

And the first time he sees Takahiro’s face, this tiny child at 6 years old walks forward with determination and says, “I’m gonna marry you one day!”

Takahiro stares down at him. “Are you, now.”

“Yep.” Matsu- _Hoshi_ grins at him. He's missing a tooth. Takahiro is immediately endeared. “In the Spring. The flowers would be the prettiest in your hair.”

Takahiro can see that Oikawa's shoulders are shaking with restrained laughter, and Iwaizumi is barely keeping a hold on his smile. 

“We'll see about that,” Takahiro says. “I think they'd look better in yours.”

Hoshi looks extremely pleased, his mother smiling with quiet relief at Takahiro, and Takahiro's father leads them to their lodgings. 

Takahiro assumes that this will be the end of his interactions with the small child, or most humans in general. He assumes wrong.

Takahiro doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't this. He's never had much interaction with humans, really, just the serious old scholars that come through to make use of his father's library or Gondorian captains who come and go to learn from the elves when they can. But tiny Hoshi, who's imprinted on him like he's some kind of curious and interesting new friend despite their limited interactions, decides to change that. Suddenly, he has a tiny human for company all the time. Hoshi comes with him to music lessons, to lunches, to training with Iwaizumi and Oikawa and is absolutely _adorable_ the entire time. He's full of questions, surprisingly funny, and has little trouble learning. He picks up Quenya with speed. 

Iwaizumi immediately likes him. Oikawa despairs. They both dote on him relentlessly and train him with the same care they would any other.

The years pass and Hoshi grows rapidly. He goes from standing to Takahiro's thigh to at his shoulder in barely any time at all, his hair growing long and unruly. He lets it stay in its easy waves and soft curls down his back, pulling it into a tail or braid when it grows to be a nuisance. As the years stretch on, he matures and grows ever more clever and sardonic, his tongue tempered by classes in deportment and years of being at Takahiro's side. He has a natural, wry humor about him, and a mischievous streak a mile wide that Takahiro does nothing to curb. 

In fact, he indulges it. 

“I'm _definitely_ going to marry you,” Hoshi tells him as Takahiro holds him up so they can balance a water bucket on Oikawa's door. “You have the best smile, and you're fun. Nobody _else_ in this place would help me get Oikawa.”

“Of course I'm fun,” Takahiro says haughtily, watching the bucket. Hoshi, 10 years old and bulky already, giggles. “I'm a delight, and don't you forget it.” 

They both laugh as they run away, and laugh even harder when Oikawa finds them, his hair still soaked from the bucket.

oOo

Issei of House Matsukawa asks for his hand once again when he turns of age and is told his true name and heritage. He's tall and handsome, broad in the shoulders and strong in his chest. But he is still young, so very young. Untried, untested, green as the leaves on the trees. Even with years of training under the finest tutors of Rivendell, he's hardly seasoned. He's barely been out of the city with the guards who patrol the valleys around Rivendell, barely gotten his blade wet or his feet on the ground. Takahiro gives him his answer without a second's pause.

“Nope,” Takahiro says, and pops a grape in his mouth. 

“Damn,” Matsukawa says, sitting down next to him. He's insisted on Matsukawa so far, not yet comfortably being known as Issei. “I really thought you might say yes this time.”

“Better luck next time,” Takahiro says, and offers him a grape. Matsukawa takes it, sighing. “So you're going with Kindaichi and Kunimi to the north so you can be with the Dunedan?”

“Looks like it.” 

Takahiro looks over at him. “I'll miss you,” he says simply, and Matsukawa blinks at him.

“Why wouldn't you,” Matsukawa retorts, and Takahiro laughs. Under his robe, the Evenstar pulses against his skin. He wonders if it's a side effect of knowing that its true owner is right there, but not able to be handed over. 

He wonders as well if it will no longer pulse if Matsukawa isn't there near it. 

The answer, he learns, is that it goes still and silent. As he watches Matsukawa ride away with his twin brothers, he feels the pulsing and fluttering of the Evenstar fade, and then grow completely still. He holds it as they disappear over the boundary line, and goes to train with Oikawa and Iwaizumi when he can't take it any more. 

He hates that one of his best friends is gone.

oOo

_Extract from the letters of Issei of House Matsukawa_

Oh flawless and peerless jewel of perfection, Lord Hanamaki of Rivendell;

It's extremely cold up North. So cold. I am already so tired of the cold and I've been here five days. Please send a rescue team to recover my frozen corpse from my tent. Your brothers are not helping. They are, if anything, hindering. 

Kunimi wants me to tell you that he's not hindering, he's doing his job very well and that I'm a liar. Kunimi's so rude. He's definitely my favorite. 

I haven't practiced writing letters, so this is the first you'll be getting from me. I've written mother a few times when she went on trips, but I've never written you, have I? It's different to write to a friend and perhaps-one-day-husband. Ha! Husbandry. There's some sort of animal joke to be found there but I can't figure it out, you'll have to send me a reply complaining about how obvious it was, and I'll laugh over it because you'll have been right. 

The north is a strange place. I hope to hear from you soon.

Your most beloved knight in arms,  
Hoshi/Issei

PS: I'm told to keep letters short so they're easy to transport, but I'll write you a whole book about how strange the North is one day. 

PPS: I really do miss you.

oOo

_Extract from the letters of Lord Takahiro, called Hanamaki_

Issei;

The leaves are falling from the trees again. Without you here filling the days, it seems they move faster and slower all at once. I've said it before but it bears repeating, your letters are something I've come to cherish. They're something to look forward to as the nights grow longer. Kindaichi's letter said that you're staying up north this winter for more training and learning more about your mother's people which, fine, I mean. It's good. Not like I'll be missing you or anything, or had plans. (This is a lie. I had plans. They were very good, Issei, you little shit. You're disrupting months of planning because you're being responsible. How dare.)

Also, here's a leaf I pressed that looks like a dog. I thought it was neat. 

I hate that these letters have to be so short, but I know you can't carry an entire novel around that's just me whining about everything going on here. For one thing, the paper's too expensive, and for another I think I'll just get homesick in your place. How dare you, Issei, take responsibility!

Your friend, who misses you very much,  
Hanamaki

PS: Iwaizumi and Oikawa send their love, and also these gloves. I sent the cookies, which better have made it to you in one piece.

oOo

Days turn into weeks, turn into months, turn into two long years. The letters come in fits and spurts as Issei ranges over the north with his people and learns the meaning of fear and battle. Takahiro keeps signing his letters _your friend_ , no matter what. Eventually, Issei winds up in Gondor with the army there, doing some light housekeeping in the way of clearing out Osgiliath of orcs for a time. Takahiro's father sends him to Mirkwood for the Festival of Starlight, and it's there that Yahaba and Watari meet up with him.

Watari is Mirkwood bred, with an easy smile and a strange shaved head. Yahaba is from Lorien, and the pair of them are intended to be his escorts to visit his kin when the time comes to leave.

Takahiro likes them. Yahaba is a captain of the guard in Lorien, dependable even if he doesn't particularly stand out from the crowd, and Watari is kind and gentle. They're good friends, and they grow closer as the days start to lead towards visiting his grandmother and grandfather. 

Which, of course, is when the letter comes to him. 

Issei is 20 years old when they meet again in Mirkwood, with a single day to themselves. Twenty-four hours. They have twenty-four hours together before Issei is taken back to Rohan to work in service of the king for a time, and Takahiro is dragged kicking and screaming to Lothlorien for an extended familial visit. It feels like an eternity and the blink of an eye since they've seen each other, and Takahiro can barely contain himself when Issei opens the door to the chambers Takahiro's been staying in and grins at him. 

Issei's still so very young. He's grown into himself, but there's still so much youth in his eyes. He’s gotten tall. Taller even than Takahiro, and broad, but he has the not-quite-finished look of one who hasn't quite found their place in the world yet. His eyes are the same as ever, though, sparking with quiet mischief and happiness as he walks into the room in the palace of Mirkwood and tosses his sword belt onto a table with little care. He's dressed in comfortable clothes for the evening, simple brown and gray in comparison to Takahiro's gaudy Spring colors of teal and purple. 

“I missed you,” Issei says easily, dropping onto the comfortable couch and grabbing the bowl of pastries from the table laden with finger foods that Takahiro's been eyeing covetously. “Letters are great, but there's nothing like hearing your voice and seeing you right in front of me.”

“You're such a sap,” Takahiro says, but he's smiling so wide his face feels like it's about to crack. 

“Like you have room to talk.”

Takahiro snorts, popping one of the cream puffs into his mouth. They're a Mirkwood delicacy, and he's eaten his weight in them since arriving. “True. How was Gondor?”

“It... was.” Issei's smile fades a little. “Minas Tirith is beautiful, but the people are sad and suffering. I didn't want to go, but I didn't want to stay, either. It wasn't the best place in the world, but... I think it could be great one day. I just didn't want to leave the people.”

“You'll be with them forever, someday,” Takahiro says, reaching out and resting his hand on Issei's knee. It's forward of him, but he and Issei have always exchanged more touch than most. They've been friends for decades now, and Issei's been at his side and pulling him along by his hand since he was all of six. Issei's hand covers his, squeezing a bit in thanks for the reassurance. “You'll be a good king, when the time's right. At least, that's what everybody tells me. Pretty sure I agree.”

“Thanks, Hanamaki.”

Takahiro doesn't pull his hand away. Issei doesn't let go. It's just been so long since they've seen each other, and he didn't know it was possible to miss touch so much until Issei went away. Issei gives him a long look, as if waiting for him to make it a joke or laugh it off, but says nothing. Instead, he moves so they're pressed side to side and his warmth can sink into Takahiro's chest. 

Which. 

With Issei right in front of him, it's probably time to do something he's been thinking about for a long while. 

“Takahiro,” he says abruptly, and Issei jolts. “My name. It's Takahiro. I'd like it, if you'd use it. When we're together. Not in public, obviously, but in private it'd be. Nice. Um.”

Issei gives him a long, slow smile. “Takahiro, then.”

“Oh, that's weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?”

“Just weird.”

Issei laughs, hand still on his, and feeds him another cream puff. 

The hours seem to fly by, and the sky lightens with the dawn. The members of the Rohirrim comes to collect Issei as Yahaba and Watari come to drag Takahiro away. Their eyes are puffy from being up all night, voices hoarse from talking. Takahiro stands reluctantly, Issei following slowly as the room is invaded by interlopers. They're still closer than normal, which makes Yahaba look curious and Watari smile with a knowing look that Takahiro isn't sure he likes. 

“Whenever you're ready, Longshanks,” one of the Rohirrim says, bowing to them. They use his Ranger name, rather than his real one, and Takahiro feels a flash of possessiveness that they haven't been given it. “We're ready to ride. Make your goodbyes, your horse is saddled and prepared.”

“Thanks,” Issei says, his smile a bit strained. He switches to Quenya, turning to Yahaba and Watari. “ _Can you give us a moment_?”

Yahaba looks horribly smug but nods. Takahiro resists the urge to glare at him. The two walk away, leaving them alone once more.

“Well.” Takahiro swallows hard. “I guess- I gues this is goodbye again.”

“Not forever,” Issei says, his eyes soft. “Maybe a while, but not forever. We'll see each other again. You won't get rid of me so easily, 'Hiro.”

“As if I ever thought I could.” Takahiro pulls his cloak clasp off, handing it to Issei. It's a sturdy piece of work, Elven make, meant to look like a pair of clasped hands holding a spear. “Here, take this. Since yours looks a little worn.”

It looks fine, really. It's an excuse and a shallow one at that, but Takahiro is sending his favorite person into battle and can't go with. Issei takes it with a smile, taking his off as well. It looks like a dragon coiled up, comfortably asleep. It must be human made, but it's good quality brass, and Takahiro knows in his bones that he'll cherish this little scrap of metal for the rest of his life. It's surprisingly charming and he's never, ever going to be rid of it.

“You're not subtle,” Issei says, pressing it into his hand. “But it's cute.”

“Shut up.”

“Not a chance.” Issei laughs, attaching Takahiro's spear clasp to his cloak and settling it on his shoulders. He looks young but competent, strong and gentle all at once. “I'll carry it with me against the darkest parts of the world and have it to remind me of home.”

“I got that in Mirkwood half an Age ago from a very tacky vendor,” Takahiro tells him. Issei snorts.

“Not Imladris. You're home to me, wherever you are.”

Takahiro stares. “Damn. That was...”

“A bit much?”

“Cheesy as _shit_ , I love it.”

“Good.” Issei's smile is nearly blinding. “I'll write to you soon.”

“You'd better.”

Issei disregards all elvish protocol and pulls him in for a crushing embrace. Takahiro hugs him back, his heart in his throat as he presses his face against Issei's broad shoulder. They hold each other perhaps a little longer than appropriate, but Takahiro can feel his heartbeat against his ribcage and that's better than most anything else at this moment. He can feel Issei, living and breathing and existing, right in his arms.

“Be safe,” he says, because there's nothing else he can say. 

“I will,” Issei promises. “I'll come back to you.”

Issei lets him go with a smile and walks to the door. His hand rests on the knob, and then he turns back. The green leaves above them are a fine contrast to his handsome face and black hair. Takahiro bites his lip, looking at the soft smile and gentle eyes. 

“Marry me, Takahiro?”

His heart is in his throat when he says, “No, Issei. Not yet.”

Issei gives him a long look, his smile hopelessly fond. “Not yet, huh?”

He leaves before Takahiro has a chance to rebut him, and he's still frozen in place five minutes later when Yahaba and Watari join him again. Yahaba gives him a sympathetic smile. 

“We really do have to go, Lord Hanamaki.”

“Sure,” Takahiro says, staring at the door. “Sure.”

oOo

The seasons change, the world spinning inexorably on. Takahiro's life becomes focused around letters, a sporadic constant. Issei addresses them differently each time, shuffling between epithets meant to make him laugh and gentle, sincere things that turn Takahiro speechless. Takahiro wanders Lothlorien, holding the parchment and paper carefully in his hands. _My Dear Evenstar_ , Issei will write in his happier letters, or, _Magnificent Eater of Cream Puffs, Most Excellently Frustrating One, O Jewel of the Rivendell Sparring Grounds and Also My Heart (OJRSGAMH for short)_. The sad ones start with simpler things, _my dear friend, my gracious lord, my delight in the darkness_. The worst of them address him only as one word, written in an elegant but clean hand; Takahiro, is all Issei calls him when the worst of it is upon him. Just Takahiro.

He paints pictures with words, spilling ghostly images over the pages of Rohan, of cities and horses and people. The wider world comes to life with each careful brush stroke, each individual person he writes of seeming to burst into splendid existence. Sometimes sketches accompany them; fragments of buildings, the curve of a horses neck, the sleek beauty of banners in the wind. They are their own kind of magical, and Takahiro meticulously keeps each letter safe to be preserved as a book, in time. 

He feels useless as Issei writes about the horrors and joys he experiences. Issei writes of weddings and funerals, births and tragedies, the stories he's told around fire sides and the beauty of the natural world. Takahiro feels as if he's been trapped in a ball of glass, unable to touch the real world. After years of training and learning with the finest Middle Earth has to offer, he is kept locked away. Too precious, the eldest son of Rivendell, too dangerous to let free the one who bears the Evenstar meant for Gondor's future king.

Takahiro feels helpless. Useless. Issei is changing and saving lives that hang in the tenuous balance of existence, and all he does is walk through Lothlorien and wish to be anywhere else.

 _What can I do?_ He writes Issei. _How can I help, in the face of all the terrible things you see?_

Issei writes back with speed, the letter arriving with spots of mud and what might be blood. _It is enough to know that my home and my heart is safe. Don't stop writing._

When Takahiro gets that letter, he barely moves the entire day. When he's recovered, he carries it with him in his sleeve, keeping it close to him at every moment. 

Yahaba finds him sitting in a gazebo at the edge of the forest and drops into the seat beside him. Takahiro is running his fingers over the Elessar at his throat, feeling the intricate gem setting and the light that it bears within it. It's the closest thing he can get to Issei himself, despite Issei never having held his namesake, and his hand tightens around it as Yahaba cocks his head.

“What's eating you?”

Takahiro stares out over the river. “I miss Issei.”

Yahaba snorts. “What else is new?” He pulls his feet up on the chair, resting his head on his knees as he watches Takahiro. “So, are you in love with him?”

“I don't know yet,” Takahiro says. “Maybe. But he's human. Mortal. He'll live longer than most humans, when I give him the Evenstar, but he'll eventually die. Every day he's out there, he could die. And I wouldn't get to say goodbye. He watches ducks on the water, taking a slow breath. “I don't know how I'd keep going without him in my life.”

Yahaba stares at him. “Wow. That sounds... scary.”

“Yeah, I'm terrified. And you know what? I was wrong. Yes. Yes, actually, I am. I'm in love with Issei of House Matsukawa.” He takes a moment to reflect on this, and says very succinctly, “ _Shit_.”

Yahaba claps him on the shoulder. “What to go get drunk and not think about it?”

“Yes, please.”

oOo

Ten long years pass from the day they met in Mirkwood. Ten years of spilling their hearts back and forth on the paper, four books worth of writing that's been bound; what letters that were able to be saved returned to him, logged together and kept close to his chest or in special boxes to protect them, so he could read their story whenever he liked. Takahiro is a proper adult, has ranged around Imladris with Oikawa and worked with Yahaba to secure the borders of Lothlorien. He does not tell Issei of his feelings, though they grow stronger with each letter. He does not say a word about falling in love and staying in love, because there is nothing to be done while they cannot be together. While he's not been to war, he's seen battles as well in the past ten years. Takahiro cuts his hair short, a daring style that he finds he likes. He dresses not in robes of state now, but in trousers and comfortable jerkins, and is as comfortable in armor as out of it.

Takahiro has been an adult for a long time now, but he finds himself approaching at last what he would call maturity.

Issei turns 30 when Takahiro is in Lothlorien to visit his family. It's early spring, the blossoms on the trees just beginning to show themselves. Takahiro finds himself alone on the day itself, seated in one of the gazebos in his grandmother's house. The house itself is safely away from the city but not truly in the woods. It's a quiet place, one he's found more restful as the days wore on through his life. 

Takahiro puts the paper on the table, weighing it down against the wind, and pulls out pen and ink. 

_Issei,_

_Happy birthday! Thirty. What a big year. Pretty sure I was still a baby at that point, so I don't remember much of that year, personally. 730, yes, definitely remember that one._

Takahiro smiles despite himself, and the ache in his chest. 

_I miss you terribly, of late. I'm half inclined to go haring after you, though I know that they'd send Iwaizumi to grab me and drag me back without a second thought. I haven't seen you in so long. Sometimes it seems like my life didn't start until you came running into my life. So thanks for that, I think. Maybe._

Far above him at the house, one of the windows flies open and Yahaba leans out. He's aged some in the past ten years as well, growing into his own maturity as they ranged together around Lothlorien.

“Hanamaki!”

Takahiro rubs his forehead, turning around and craning his neck up to look at the window. “What?”

“Oh, you're out here.” Yahaba grins at him. “Never mind.”

And with that, he shuts the window abruptly and Takahiro is once again left alone in the garden in silence. He stares at the window, shaking his head, and returns to his letter. 

_Maybe we can find some time to get away for a minute. It might happen, don't laugh at me. I know we haven't managed it in the last nine years of trying to meet back up, but you never know. It could happen!_

There's a crack of someone deliberately stepping on a stick in the distance behind him, and Takahiro turns.

His heart stops for a moment.

He’s dressed in black and gray leathers, hand resting easy on a sword pommel, a bow and quiver on his back and his black hair in curls to his shoulders. The years have broadened his shoulders, brought pleasant maturity to his face, callused his sturdy hands, and made him into something marvelous. He wears the Ring of Barahir and has pierced his ears for black diamond studs, no other jewelry on his person. He is terribly handsome.

“My Lord Luthien!” Issei calls, striding through the dappled light of the trees of Lorien. Issei of House Matsukawa, Elessar, true and future King of Arnor and Gondor, has grown up well.

Takahiro, last son of Imladris, Evenstar, Lord of Rivendell and hopeless disaster thinks to himself, ‘oh, _fuck_.’

“My Lord Beren,” Takahiro says, because there's nothing else he can say. There are so many words between them, unspoken but on paper, and he finds himself tongue tied. “Welcome back. Took you long enough, I was about to give up on ever sitting down for grapes and gossip with you again.”

Issei grins at him, wide and easy, and Takahiro's breath catches in his throat. The light coming through the trees is soft and pale, golden hour washing everything into brilliance. But Issei is silver and darkness, familiar in his ways and yet so utterly new. There's a pride and peace to him that wasn't there when he left last time, a strength to his face that's not been there before.

“Hey,” he says, standing up. Issei comes up to him, standing right before him. He's even taller than Takahiro now, such a massive man. They're terribly close. His heart hammers in his chest.

“Hey, what?”

Takahiro swallows hard, fingers twitching as he struggles not to reach out and touch. Issei's smile widens a little and he reaches down to take his hand. Takahiro has never felt small and delicate until this moment. 

“Issei,” Takahiro says, eyes fixed on that smile, the one he never wants to be without again. “Ask me one more time.”

Issei does.

And Takahiro says yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Tale of Beren and Luthien, because I'm a sap. 
> 
> Comments feed my soul! Please do leave one with your thoughts, they're deeply appreciated. You can find me on tumblr at heronfem!


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